


looking to make a mistake

by listlesswanderer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Feel Bad Sex, Like feel bad as in there's crying involved but like y'know, One Night Stands, Other, gender neutral reader, possible coercion if you read into it, they still have a time of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25327939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listlesswanderer/pseuds/listlesswanderer
Summary: The man smiles. He shakes your hand. His hand is warm.“Call me Peter.”His eyes are cold.
Relationships: Peter Lukas/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	looking to make a mistake

“Malt scotch for my friend here.”

The pleasant toned voice snaps you out of the clouded mass of thoughts swirling around your head and you look up to see a tall man sidling up to the bar, probably at least 20 or 30 years your senior judging by the faded greys in his hair and beard, and deep lines in his face. You think, for a moment, he must be talking to someone else, but the pale, grey gaze that settles squarely on you banishes the notion immediately.

It takes a moment to register exactly what he’s said before you quickly say to the bartender, “Oh, no that’s alright uh--”

You turn your attention back to the man, still staring at you calmly with a small smile. “I don’t… drink.”

The moment the words leave your lips, you realize your error.

“Odd place to be, considering you don’t drink,” he calls you out with a light laugh and a placid smile, though it feels... oddly hollow despite the pointed look towards the very empty glass in front of you.

“I’m waiting for a friend,” you say instead, but the man shook his head wryly, as though he were a school teacher reprimanding a student.

“I think an hour and a half is rather a long time to be waiting for a friend, don’t you?”

You feel your stomach drop, an icy cold beginning to flood in to take its place. _He’s been watching you this whole time._ “I don’t think--”

“Sorry, that’s almost certainly not something that you want to hear,” he laughs a bit, leaning back on his stool with a stiff, placating motion of his hands. “I just spend a lot of time in spaces like this when my ship makes port. Mostly to people-watch, and I happened to notice you sitting here alone for a long while. Thought you might appreciate some company.”

His reassurance doesn’t completely dispel the fear that had flared in your stomach, but it does smooth the edges til it settles into a quiet unease.

“Well, you thought wrong,” you mutter bitterly before wincing a bit at the sharper tone. “Sorry. I’m not--it’s been a rough…”

You find yourself pausing for an extended moment. You’d been about to say ‘week’ but if you were being honest, how long has it been since things _haven’t_ been rough?

You decide to settle on a vague hand wave instead. “...y’know. A rough time. So, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not really in the mood for _company_ right now.”

The man hums, his tone filled with a tint of realization. “Ah, I understand. So you’re looking to make a mistake then.”

And the unease flares up again inside you, even as the man’s warm, pleasant demeanour remains as he stares at you calmly. “What?”

“This may be a bit presumptuous, but no one comes to a bar without friends or the intention of drinking themselves under the table, not unless they’re looking for _something else_. Otherwise, you could drink at home. Alone. Is that a correct assumption?”

You feel your face burn at the accusation and a snappy retort bubbling up in your throat to tell this extremely creepy man to leave you alone and just go back to people-watching.

Until you notice how _quiet_ it is.

You turn your eyes to the rest of the bar--and realize it’s utterly _empty_ . The group of friends raucously laughing in a booth, the couple giggling drunkenly in the corner, the old men sitting quietly in their claimed territory, even the _bartender_ seems to have just… _vanished._

And very suddenly, your desire to be _left alone_ immediately vanishes in the fear of actually _being alone._

The man’s voice cuts through the quiet, still carrying that pleasant though apologetic tone, seemingly unaware of the absolutely unsettling _absence_ that’s settled in the bar, “Sorry--don’t feel pressured to answer that. I really shouldn’t be propositioning someone like this when they’re clearly in distress. If you’d rather be left alone--”

“No!” you say far too quickly and loudly before managing to rein back your panic. “No, that’s… you’re right. I think.”

You settle back in your seat, staring into your lap. You can feel that he isn’t quite looking directly at you, but he remains seated. “I’m… things just haven’t been going very well as of late.”

“So you’re looking for a distraction, then?” he says in a venturing tone. “Chance to just get away from it all?”

You turn your gaze airily at the empty glass in front of you. “...maybe.”

In your periphery, you see him lean closer, but not quite enough to fully trap you. A careful distance. “I can help with that. If you’d like.”

His voice is so gentle.

Your eyes slide closed. 

_What am I doing?_

You take a breath. 

_I don’t want to be alone._

And you turn your gaze to him, his cold eyes staring at you curiously. You hold out your hand. You tell him your name.

The man smiles. He shakes your hand. His hand is warm.

“Call me Peter.”

His eyes are cold.

* * *

Peter talks to you the entire way through damp streets, a cold fog rolling in to chill your bones. At first, you feel as though you should respond or say something to help carry the conversation but eventually you realize he’s doing fine all by himself. It’s much more like he’s talking _at_ you than with you. 

You find yourself not minding so much as you tune out the pleasant drone of his voice. You really don’t feel in the right mind to be thinking let alone partake in a conversation.

You manage to catch the fact that tonight is his last night in the city before he leaves and that he’s staying at a hotel nearby before he seems to notice you shivering and wraps an arm around you to hold you close to his much warmer body. He continues on with his chatter with hardly a beat skipped while you suppress the urge to shiver again though this time for entirely different reasons.

Before long, you arrive at the hotel that he’s apparently staying in and your eyes blow wide.

“It’s…”

“Above a sailor’s paygrade?” he says with humour.

“ _Fancy_.”

Peter laughs with warmth, “It’s even nicer on the inside.”

He’s right: it’s most definitely way nicer than any place you’ve ever stayed in. 

And it’s completely empty.

You feel the question rising in your throat but Peter quickly whisks you up to his room, his hand still wrapped around your waist. On your way up, Peter is remarkably silent in contrast to his earlier chatter, allowing you a moment to think. Why were you doing this, really? You’d been trying to _get away_ from all the awfulness of your life for a blissful night, and this…

_So you’re looking for a distraction, then? Chance to just get away from it all?_

This was just a temporary thing. By morning he’d be gone. And you would be alone again.

Before you fully realize it, you’re at the door to Peter’s room and the man himself is fishing through his coat to find the keycard to the room. You feel like you should say… _something._

“Do you have protection?” you blurt out as he slides his keycard through the lock.

He gives a wry smile as he opens the door. “Of course, I said as much earlier.”

Oh. Shit, maybe you _should_ have tried to pay closer attention before.

Before you can think to apologize, he steps inside. He doesn’t pull you in when he enters. You hesitate for a moment.

_I could just… leave._

You look down the empty corridor, the doors shut. There could be plenty of people behind each one, sleeping soundly and blissfully unaware of the mistake you’re about to make.

Somehow you know there’s no one there.

_I can’t be alone._

You follow after him.

As soon as you enter, the door shuts behind you and suddenly a warm, larger body is pressing you against it. You feel your breath leave you as Peter tilts your head up gently by the chin and you look into those cold eyes again.

He leans in so close you feel his breath on your lips. “Last chance to back out.”

You let out a shaky breath. You open your mouth.

And you close the distance to press your lips against his. It’s awkward at first, his beard scraping roughly against your face, his nose bumping against yours but he quickly tilts his head and pulls you closer into a deep kiss. You reach up to wrap your arms over his shoulders to pull him down further as he pushes a leg to press against the growing heat between your own legs.

He’s tall enough to completely lift you off of the ground.

You groan into his mouth before his kisses begin to trail down further—to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, biting and sucking along the way as you grip at his woolen sweater and try to hold back the noises threatening to spill from your throat.

And then suddenly he’s pulling back and you clutch him tighter to tell him _no, keep going_ before he says, “Don’t hold back. I want to hear that voice of yours.”

You nod numbly before Peter descends on you again, this time rucking up your shirt to kiss a line down your chest, taking his time to thumb and wrap his lips around the hardening peaks there. This time, you let the noises flow from you freely, writhing and gasping at his attention to your chest and he huffs out a laugh before moving to stand and you almost grab at greying locks to _keep_ him there—

Until suddenly a hand presses to your backside and you find yourself lifted off your feet. You let out a surprised yelp as he lifts you with such ease, you feel a slight blush creep up on your face. You find that you have to wrap your legs around his waist lest you fall a not-insignificant distance as he carries you over to the bed.

He lays you down on pristine, crisp sheets and he sits between your legs that are still bracketing his sides. He gives you that same placid smile, his cold eyes filled with a hunger that makes you shiver, before he reaches a hand to tug at your trousers and you shift a bit to help slip them off of you. As Peter tosses them off to the side, you shiver at the cold air brushing against the heat between your legs.

It doesn’t last long though as he presses in close again, not enough to completely crush you as he brackets each side of your head with an arm before he moves in to bite and suck at your neck. Your eyes squeeze shut as he grinds his growing hardness against you, breathing out heavily as you gasp and grip at the soft fabric of his shirt. You feel his weight shift slightly as he reaches up towards the nightstand but before you can question it, he returns and moves down, pushing open your legs further and lifting up your hips and your eyes fly open to stare down at him.

His eyes are fixated on you, his face directly between your thighs and your eyes grow wide before his mouth is on you, his tongue laving at the heated flesh and feel a cry rip from your throat as your hands fly to tangle in his hair. He continues to suck and run his tongue along you, your head falling back as your hips stutter and buck into the clever movements of his tongue.

So caught up in his attention, you almost don’t notice a slicked finger at your entrance before it presses in and your body jerks in response. Immediately, Peter’s other hand grips at your hip to hold you steady as he slowly fucks you with his finger. For a few moments, he keeps sucking you with his lips and tongue as he presses his finger into you before one finger quickly becomes two then three, and you whine at the burning stretch around his digits fucking into you.

The stretch, the burn is _good_ , but it’s only when he curls his fingers that you can’t help but cry out. He continues like that, fucking you harder and faster as his mouth laves attention between your legs to match, tension beginning to coil in your gut--

And it’s simultaneously too soon and not soon enough when he pulls off of you, his eyes boring into you over desperate heat in your stomach.

“God,” he says, his voice rough and gutteral and your heart jumps at his words, “I want to fuck you now.”

_Oh, fuck me._

He laughs, “Yes, that’s rather the idea.”

Your face flushes at the realization that you’d spoken aloud but it’s quickly brushed aside as Peter leans back, grabbing at your hips to flip you over to your front and raising your hips. Your face pressed against crisp sheets, you hear Peter moving behind you, the sound of a belt being undone and tearing packaging making your breath hitch before you tense up at the feeling of Peter’s hardness curving against your ass. 

_Oh god, he’s big._

You feel his weight settle onto your back, his hands planted on either side of you as he nudges the head at your entrance. You breathe in, waiting for him to finally push in and stretch you open but he continues to tease, just barely pressing in before pulling back to run his length against the curve of your ass and repeating it over again. After several moments, you start to push back but immediately, you feel him grip at your hips to hold you in place and you _whine_.

“Please _,_ ” you breathe, fisting at the soft bed sheets below you.

He leans in close, his beard practically scraping against your ear. “You’re going to need to be more specific. What do you need?” 

“ _Please_ , just _fuck_ me.”

You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “ _Perfect._ ”

And he presses in, the head of his cock breaching your entrance and you both let out a groan. He doesn’t give you much time to adjust as he thrusts in further and further before he finally bottoms out and you take a moment to fully take in the feeling of finally _finally_ being full, the burning sensation of his cock stretching you open. 

He immediately sets out a rhythm, fucking into you slowly, 

“Touch me,” you gasp out. He lets out a small hum, and continues to fuck you but makes no move to indicate he’d heard you at all. “Peter, _please_.”

“God, you’re _perfect_ ,” he says, his voice rough as the rhythm of his thrusts picks up, fucking into you harder, faster. You feel a moan begin to bubble up, the praise going straight through you—

“Just absolutely consumed by your isolation.”

Over the burning heat of pleasure, you feel your stomach drop from under you, an icy pool beginning to form alongside the heat. “What—”

“Going to a bar _alone_ just to wallow in your own loneliness?” Peter presses a kiss to your shoulder and you can feel his smile against your skin. “Looking to stave it off with a meaningless one night stand?”

He punctuates his words with a deep thrust and you let out a cry at each one as pleasure coils in your gut despite the growing despair. “Lovely. Gorgeous. _Perfect_.”

His words cut through you like a cold scalpel, a precise incision into your heart, aching and begging to be soothed. _Why is he telling you this?_

“N—no I _hngh,_ ” you breathily protest, though even you can tell it doesn’t have the defiance you want it to carry. “I… I wasn’t… _looking_ to do this.”

And he laughs. “Perhaps not. But here you are, begging me to fill that aching emptiness inside you.”

His voice is rough as he whispers into your ear, “You’re _intoxicating_ . It’s practically _rolling_ off of you.”

You feel your throat close up, tears springing to your eyes even as your hips jerk back to meet his thrusts, your body too caught up in the raw pleasure of Peter rutting into you. “Peter—”

“You don’t want to think about it now, but it’s going to be,” he groans, his words become more breathless as he slams into you harder, faster. “ _Delectable_ when I finally leave.”

You sob openly as he continues to shower you in praises of your _perfect loneliness_ before it dissolves into guttural groans as his rhythm becomes more and more erratic, the sounds of heavy breaths, skin against skin, and your own heaving sobs filling the space. And yet despite the horrible despair flowing through you, you feel your body respond to Peter’s hands gripping at your sides, wandering over your skin, his hardness pounding into you, pressing you further and further into the sheets twisted in your agonized grip.

You don’t want this to be over. It hurts, the awful emptiness clawing at your chest, threatening to consume you entirely, but even this, this meaningless tryst, the feeling of Peter against you, _with you_ , was _something_ , better than nothing, better than the awful reality of being forsaken that waited for you on the other side. If it’s over…

“I’ll leave,” he murmurs into your back, his voice rough as his lips press against your skin. You can feel him smiling and your stomach turns as he says, “And you’ll be alone again.”

Vaguely, you register that your incoherent string of pleading had actually spilled from your mouth, but the thought immediately evaporates when Peter reaches his hand around to your front to finally, _finally_ touch you and it only takes a few moments before you find yourself tipping over the edge, riding out your orgasm as he fucks you through it, practically crushing you beneath his weight.

It takes you several long minutes to finally recover and it takes you even longer to realize Peter’s already pulled out of you. He doesn’t lay next to you to wrap you up in his arms, to offer you comfort. Instead you feel the distinctive weight of him rising from the bed.

Leaving you.

Suddenly, the panic and fear returns with full force and you snap up to try and grab at him, your last lifeline—

Only there’s no one there to hold onto.

And as the fear settles deep in you, replacing the scant comfort that the man had offered, you know that there won’t ever be again.

**Author's Note:**

> do not behold me.


End file.
